


Smile, and Smile

by Vitreous_Humor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Casting Couch, Dark, Fantasizing, M/M, Pining, Rough Oral Sex, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: Crowley makes good on his promise to turn Hamlet into a hit.“Your name will be remembered for hundreds of years, and the words that were written will see their first flight on your lips. You'll have rose petals in your hair, London at your feet, and if you can fill your heart with the love of those that set worshipful eyes on you, then it will be filled every night you live.”





	Smile, and Smile

Crowley ignored the actor stirring on the bed behind him, intent instead on washing off the last of the oil from his now-smooth face. Satan, what a stupid idea that beard had been. He wasn't sure the angel had even looked at his face let alone the beard.

He dried his face off with the cloth hanging off the washstand, baring his teeth at his own reflection in something like a smile. He looked more like himself, and he liked the way he looked, so that was good thing.

What wasn't a good thing was the fact he'd have to kill the better part of a week while Aziraphale was in Edinburgh, and he didn't like that, and he sort of hated how much he didn't like that.

_A whole week with the angel up north, and I told him I'd turn his poxy little play into a hit. Should have just gone north myself and done the blessing for him while I was at it._

He didn't want to do that, of course. What was the point of doing something nice if you _had_ to do it? It wouldn't have made Aziraphale's eyes light up if he had lost a coin toss, not that he wanted to think much about how he liked it when the angel's eyes lit up.

 _I remember a blue like that,_ he thought, and then he pushed it away in favor of turning towards the pretty young man in the bed. He had rolled up on one elbow, watching Crowley with a sleepy, sexy smile that likely got him out of all sorts of trouble.

_Ah well. A promise is a promise. Might as well get on with it. It's going to take some real work to make this depressing piece of coal shine._

“You're awake,” Crowley said, sauntering back to the bed. “That's convenient. Ready for round two already?”

The man- Dick, as he had introduced himself- nuzzled up against the hand that Crowley offered him. He had been pretty enough to play the girls just five or six years ago, Crowley thought. In a short while, he would really come into himself. Right now, though, he could go any number of ways.

“I might not mind...” Dick hazarded, and Crowley grinned a little.

“'Til you're sure, why don't we just have a little chat, hm?”

“Shall I send for food?” asked Dick, and Crowley shook his head.

“Nah, I don't care to bother with that right this moment. Here, shove over.”

It was bloody cold for September, and if he was going to be fixing things up for the angel, he might as well be comfortable. He fit well in Crowley's arms, head tucked under his chin, and legs tangled below. Dick's hair was dark but slightly wavy, and he was too slight by far, but it would serve well enough, Crowley thought.

When he was comfortable, Crowley reached out and started ticking through the contents of Dick's mind, murmuring a little as he did so.

“Well, well, aren't you an ambitious thing, Master Burbage,” he said to himself.

“I think it's a virtue rather than a failing...”

“Ha, you would. Let's see. Not much real badness to you, not really. Pity, that. You actors are always meant to be such a hotbed of sin, and mostly when I look, I just find some fears about being too small and a sense like you're a neighborhood you don't really want to be in. Why is that, anyway?”

“I don't...”

“Never mind, shush now. Hmm. Yes, you _are_ a sharp little one, aren't you? Hungry, which I always like to see, and carrying some bit of shame, which I can work with. And of course talent, but you can find that in just about any tavern, brothel or bakery...”

“You can't!” Dick said with some offense. “I've been on the boards since I was a child...”

“Of course I can,” Crowley said easily. “Common as dirt, you. I could probably pick out the baker's apprentice if he were pretty enough, spend a few years shining him up and pop him straight up there on stage. He'd do just as well as you, if not better, and that's not even getting into the fact that women can't be on the stage. I know a dozen girls who'd rip your heart out on a bad night, let alone a good one.”

Dick tried to laugh as if Crowley were making some kind of joke, and Crowley pulled back out of the actor's mind, satisfied.

“But I'm not talking to some baker's brat, am I? I'm talking to you.”

“And who then, may I ask, am I speaking to?” There was a note of wariness in Dick's voice that made Crowley laugh, and he pulled back just far enough so that he could kiss Dick's mouth. There was a reluctance to it at first, a caution that hadn't been there before, and Crowley let it melt away a little before he spoke, his lips still brushing Dick's.

“Who are you afraid I might be?” he whispered, and he felt a full body shiver go through Dick's frame.

“I... I don't know. You're Master Crowley, Master Fell's-”

Crowley nipped his lower lip, making him yelp.

“Ah, let's not talk about Master Fell while we're in bed together, shall we? Seems _rude.”_

Dick looked even more nervous now, wide eyes even wide, but he nodded.

“You're Master Crowley. You wanted to meet me and to talk with me about the theater.”

“Yes, and we've done precious little talking yet. Let's fix that now. Richard Burbage, what do you want?”

“Want?”

“Are you thick after all?” Crowley taunted. “Opportunities like this one don't come up every day, my lad. Maybe I _should_ go offer this to the baker's boy.”

“Offer _what_? Who are you really?”

Dick was shaking now, but Crowley noticed that he wasn't pulling away. Artists. Crowley loved them.

“What matters is who _you_ are,” Crowley said, his hand coming up to ruffle Dick's hair. “Do you want to be good? Or would you rather be remembered?”

In the dim light of the cheap room, Dick's eyes shone like stars. He had blue eyes, Crowley noted. That was nice.

“Remembered,” Dick murmured. “Oh, remembered.”

Artists.

“Show me,” Crowley said, letting him go.

Dick was on him like a terrier after a rat. One moment, Crowley was on his side, holding Dick to him, and the next he had been pushed onto his back as Dick pressed his mouth to Crowley's throat. It was good, it had been good before, and Crowley had no reason to think that it wouldn't be good again, but somehow, it didn't please.

“No, not like that,” he said, pushing Dick back. “On your knees. Might as well see what you're really made of.”

Something in him felt a little uneasy as Dick dropped down to the ground, and he ignored it. He was a demon on a mission, after all, and he had a job he needed to be getting on with. He came to sit on the edge of the low bed, letting Dick settle between his knees.

Dick would have gone right to work, but Crowley cradled his head in his hands for a moment, fingers moving in almost tender little circles.

“You ought to be very careful about falling. You can't really take it back, you know.”

Dick licked his lips, hesitating for a moment.

“Will it be worth it?”

“Your name will be remembered for hundreds of years, and the words that were written will see their first flight on your lips. You'll have rose petals in your hair, London at your feet, and if you can fill your heart with the love of those that set worshipful eyes on you, then it will be filled every night you live.”

Dick uttered a soft moan at that, and he moved forward, taking Crowley's hardening cock in his mouth.

Crowley hissed a little at the pleasure of it, running his hands through Dick's curls. Satan, why couldn't the boy have been a blond?

He kept his hand on Dick's head, and he let himself drift with the pleasure for a while, because it _did_ feel good. There was nothing wrong with feeling good, especially when he was in the middle of actually doing what was only his job _and_ a favor for the angel at once. Shouldn't have been possible, but there it was.

He stroked Dick's curls, eyes closed, pretending they were pale instead of dark. Would the angel ever go for something like this? Surely not, but then again, he'd always liked things in his mouth, always got such a pleasure out of eating all sorts of things that Crowley wasn't even sure were _food,_ let alone good to eat.

Would he, _could_ he, be tempted like some grubby little actor? He was so _human_ in some ways, far more human than Crowley was, so delighted by every blessed trend and toy that came along. He'd been over the moon for the printing press every time they came up with it, whether it was in Hubei or Strasbourg, so pleased every time they managed to remember how to blow glass or that theater wasn't evil.

 _Terrible_ angel, really, and that sent a surge of pleasure through Crowley, making him tighten his fingers in Dick's hair.

“That'sss right. Tilt your head back, you can go deeper than that,” he murmured, and he wasn't talking to some actor anymore at all.

He'd be so _startled._ Had he started thinking that Crowley was some kind of tame thing after all these years, something he could bargain with, something that would always jump to do his bidding? It would be such a surprise then, to find himself on his knees, head pulled back, and eyes wide...

No. For some reason, Aziraphale with his eyes wide in this particular fantasy didn't appeal. Strike that.

But he'd whimper and whine about it. That was good.

 _You spend so much time with your mouth open, I just thought it was high time I put something in it. Oh... do you have something to say about that, angel? Something about how you thought I was too_ nice _for this? That I didn't want to do something this mean to you? I'm sorry, you're going to have to speak up._

Crowley cupped the back of the actor's head with one large hand, bringing him forward just another fraction. He was sweating a little despite the cold room, his throat working, his fingers twitching a little on Crowley's thighs.

“Don't worry,” he crooned. “I'm not going to break you or ruin you. Where would be the fun in _that?_ No, I'm just going to... push you a bit. You don't mind if I do that, do you? Just going to enjoy myself with that blessed mouth of yours.”

Crowley let him pull back, liking that wet little sound of relief, and then he started pushing up into his mouth again, hands in his hair, hips moving up steadily. He stopped short of gagging him every time, but it was a close thing. Crowley let his eyes close again.

_Aw, angel, poor thing. You're not used to this, are you? Not used to someone having a good time with you and leaving you all wanting. Of course you're wanting. You always are, after food, and books and shiny new water wheels, and new forms of government. Just a little fool for every new trend. Do you like this? Can you even like this?_

_What's it like being something I found out of some marketplace stall? How do you like me having my fun and then dropping you on the floor when it's over? Bet it feels rotten. Bet it feels forgotten..._

Crowley shuddered at that thought, because demon or not, he could tell when he had crossed over into some kind of strange and dangerous territory.

Abruptly he pulled away, faintly guilty when he heard that desperate gasp for air. Not Aziraphale after all, but only a pretty actor who had no idea what in the world he was fooling with.

“Come here, darling,” he said, and the actor came, a little wary. Crowley figured he was used to unpredictable patrons.

Crowley brought him up to straddle his lap, both hands on Crowley's shoulders, shivering a little when Crowley wrapped his hand around his cock. He worked him a for a few minutes, and he murmured soft promises of how very fine an actor he would be, how he would be loved and adored and remembered, which pleased him more.

By the end, his head was cradled on Crowley's shoulder, he had made a mess of both of them, and he was positively clinging to Crowley in a way that Crowley had to admit he didn't hate.

Crowley tipped him- Dick, that was right, his name was Dick- back into the bed, petting his hair a little. Handsome thing, really. He'd be a fine choice for the days ahead, when Crowley would start walking the fish markets and the greater halls, whispering about this damned play, its elegance and its darkness, its transcendent drama. Crowley had never been a fan of Shakespeare's gloomier efforts, but this one was all right. Might as well be _Hamlet_ as _Cynthia's Revels_ or _Antonio's Revenge._ And of course Aziraphale would be pleased.

He was mostly dressed and on his way out when Dick stirred in the bed.

“So am I damned, then?” he asked in a voice slurred with sleep.

Crowley knew what the appropriate answer was, but he found himself dropping back to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing Dick's bare back with a gentle hand. He remembered- no. Didn't want to.

“I'm going to let you in on a little secret, all right? Very hush-hush. Don't go around telling the rest, or I'll never get anything done.”

Dick made a soft sound of assent. He wouldn't even remember this in the morning, Crowley thought with amusement.

“That's not up to me. I can poke and prod, inconvenience you, throw everything you love over a cliff, doesn't matter. It's never been up to me at all. It's up to you.”

There was no response but a soft snore, and Crowley tugged the blanket up over him as he stood.

He thought that Hell wouldn't mind if he let that one out of the bag. They'd all known it too, and look at the good it did them.

Crowley walked out into the thin gray dawn. There was work to do, and wouldn't it be fine to welcome Aziraphale home with a triumphant theatrical release.

**Author's Note:**

> *Crowley is wrong about how Aziraphale's more human than he is. Projection and jealousy are very human.
> 
> *For some reason, the actor playing Hamlet leans down and asks Aziraphale what his friend thinks, and Crowley's response is a rather toothy “I think you should get on with the play.” That's where this fic comes from. 
> 
> *It's interesting writing Crowely as mean as he is in this fic, because he's definitely mean. I'm not sure if he's just irritable about missing Aziraphale or if he's just always like this when he's doing his job.
> 
> *That said, I'd like to do a piece where he's doing one of Aziraphale's blessings, too. 
> 
> *Crowley is specifically losing the beard in the first bit because a pal can't stand it. ^_^


End file.
